A Bitter Season
by Settiai
Summary: The coldest winter can give way to the warmest spring.


Belle had never enjoyed the winter, even as a child.

Her mother had died during a harsh winter, alongside so many of her subjects, as icy winds blew outside the stone walls. Snow piled up, and food grew scarce, and illness dug its way into the populace. Belle had been young then, barely more than a babe, but she had a few jumbled memories of those days. Cold. Fear. Anger. It was difficult to consider snow to be beautiful when you were well aware that it was also deadly.

She didn't know how anyone could like the cold.

"Daydreaming again, dearie?"

Belle startled, but two weeks' worth of practice kept her from dropping the small clock she was holding. Rumpelstiltskin had appeared as if out of nowhere – or perhaps he had appeared out of nowhere, it was a possibility with him – and was now leaning against the wall a few feet from her. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed her stare.

"I'm sorry," Belle said, dropping her gaze. "I hadn't realized that you were back from Agrabah already."

She quickly finished dusting the empty spot where the clock usually rested. She sat it back down, careful not to look too closely at it or anything else nearby. She was learning that some items in Rumpelstiltskin's collection were more than they appeared and, though she doubted that was the case for a clock or a candelabra or a wooden carving, it was better to be wary.

Sometimes, at night, Belle thought she could still hear the soft, inaudible whisper she had heard when she touched the pair of puppets Rumpelstiltskin kept so prominently displayed. She didn't need anything else to play in her mind when she was trying to rest.

It was hard enough to sleep as it was, everything considered.

Rumpelstiltskin's hand was suddenly under her chin, forcing her to look up at him again. "That wasn't an answer."

Belle hesitated for a moment, not quite certain if he truly wanted a reply. It wasn't as if it was the first time he had caught her being lost in thought, nor was it likely to be the last – and they both knew it. Rumpelstiltskin made the decision for her a few seconds later when he dropped his hand, laughing to himself as he turned away.

"That candelabra could do with a good polishing," Rumpelstiltskin called over his shoulder. "He's quite vain. I'm certain he would be appreciative. He might even thank you."

Before she could stop herself, Belle's gaze darted back to the mantel where the candelabra rested. She thought that she saw a flicker of movement, but it could very well be her imagination and she knew it.

Rumpelstiltskin let out a peal of laughter at her reaction, his amusement evident. Whether it was because he was telling the truth or because he most definitely wasn't, Belle had no idea.

* * *

Belle closed her eyes momentarily as the door to her room (_cell_, her mind helpfully supplied) shut behind her. She was starting to get used to the routine, to knowing that she would be locked in at night and let out in the morning, but there was always a sinking sensation inside her when the door closed each night and she heard the sound of footsteps walking off.

It felt suspiciously like self-pity.

"That's enough of that," Belle said sharply to herself.

She opened her eyes, glancing up at the small window above her. It let in a sliver of moonlight, so that she wasn't completely in the dark, but it also had no glass in it. The angle usually kept the wind from blowing straight inside, but it didn't help at all as the temperature dropped colder and colder during the night.

Belle sighed as she stooped down to arrange her bed for the night. "You wanted this," she reminded herself harshly.

It was true, and she knew it. She had wanted this, had wanted a chance to prove that she was more than a pretty face, a convenient playing piece whose marriage bed and the bargaining power it brought was her only worth.

She knew that she had been sheltered growing up, that her father had tried to protect her from some of the hardships of the world. There were some truths that couldn't be hidden, though, not when you were a woman. The world wasn't necessarily kind to anyone, but it was especially true when you weren't a man. She had known full well what fate might one day have in store for her. Just as she knew, without a doubt, that her life could be much, much worse than it was now.

The Dark One was many things, but he was also a man. Belle had expected the worst when she walked out of the only home she had ever known with him by her side. A few cold nights were nothing compared to some of the worries that had in her mind that first day.

Belle shivered, and it was not entirely from the cold.

* * *

Belle wrapped her thin blanket more closely around her, letting out a quiet whimper despite her best efforts. It was warm in the main rooms of the castle, or at least it was during the day when the fires were burning. She wasn't certain how warm it was at night, considering Rumpelstiltskin had been careful to lock her in her cell as soon as the evening meal was finished every night since she had arrived.

But at night, in her cell, there was no pretending it wasn't the heart of winter. Not when her teeth were chattering and she felt as if she was slowly being turned into ice herself.

She had hoped, at first, that the cell was only temporary. Perhaps a test to see just how she would react to the situation.

(Belle had pounded on the door for an hour straight, yelling out every creative curse she could ever remember reading in her books, until Rumpelstiltskin had thrown open the door and threatened to turn her into a newt. He'd laughed when she asked how a newt was supposed to clean his castle for him and told her that maybe she'd have to learn. But he hadn't let her out, not until morning.)

Three weeks and two-and-a-half nights later, Belle wanted to think she had gotten used to it. For the most part, she had. But, oh, how she hated the cold.

It said a lot that she didn't notice the sound of footsteps until the door was already opening. It said even more still that her first reaction was to instinctively pull the blanket more tightly around her as the door's movement sent a breeze drifting across the room.

"All this whimpering," Rumpelstiltskin said. Belle knew that he was shaking his head, even though she couldn't see him with the blanket pulled around her. "It's a good thing I wasn't trying to sleep. You would have ruined it."

Belle knew that she should reply. That was the pattern they had fallen into. He teased and she replied, and somehow or another it seemed to work. But she honestly wasn't certain she could manage even a handful of words with her teeth chattering the way they were.

There was long pause. "Belle?"

She jerked in surprise when she felt a hand gently rest on her face. The hand pulled back immediately.

Rumpelstiltskin made a surprised sound, his eyes widening ever so slightly in the dim light. "Your skin feels like ice," he said, his gaze instantly coming up to meet hers. He looked almost . . . confused.

Belle looked away, closing her eyes.

"Why didn't—" Rumpelstiltskin trailed off, something in his tone that Belle hadn't heard before in the weeks since she had first come to his castle. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought it was worry.

A distant part of her brain was confused by his reaction. It hadn't crossed her mind that Rumpelstiltskin might simply have not realized how cold it was at night, that it wasn't some sort of test or an intentional action. It was very human.

Belle felt his hands on her arms, and before she had a chance to react he pulled her roughly to her feet. It took everything Belle had not to cry out in pain as her legs protested, and she suspected that she might not have succeeded entirely when Rumpelstiltskin stilled beside her.

The world faded to grey for a moment, or maybe it was for a lifetime. Belle had a vague sense of a hand gently resting at the small of her back, of a surprisingly reassuring voice, of sudden warmth. And then the grey faded into black.

* * *

Belle woke up in a bed, blankets piled on top of her. A cup of tea sat on a table beside it, steam still rising from it, despite there being no sign of anyone else in the room.

She carefully sat up and reached for the tea, taking a cautious sip. It was sweetened just as she liked it, not too much and not too little. She glanced around her, trying to place the room. She had explored most of the castle, but there were several rooms that were typically locked that she had never seen the inside of. The one she was in had to be one of those.

It was small and somewhat bare, save for . . . and then Belle froze for a moment, startled. She hadn't brought many belongings with her, only a few dresses and some trinkets to remind her of home. Her dresses were hanging on the far side of the room, though, and now that she was looking the rest of her belongings were carefully placed throughout it. There were also quite a few books, none of which she recognized, sitting on the table beside her bed, next to where the teacup had been.

As gestures went, it was much more subtle than she was used to seeing when it came to Rumpelstiltskin. But it was still easy to recognize.

"Don't think you're going to spend the entire day lounging in bed just because you got a little cold."

Belle didn't even startle at Rumpelstiltskin's voice. She merely glanced in the direction it was coming from, a far corner opposite the door that she knew had been empty a moment before, and smiled. "Thank you."

"Bah." Rumpelstiltskin waved a hand dismissively at her. "Good help is hard to find these days. It's hard for someone to keep my castle clean if they freeze to death."

She opened her mouth to say something, even she wasn't entirely certain what but _something_, but he cut her off before she had a chance.

"I have work to get done." He crossed his arms in front of his chest and eyed her. "I expect those suits of armor in the south hallway to be shining by the time I get back."

And then he was gone.

Belle stared at the empty space he had been standing for a moment before letting out a soft laugh. Then she slowly, and carefully, pushed the blankets off of her and stood up.

She had never enjoyed the winter. She suspected she never would. But the thing about winter was that spring was always just around the corner.


End file.
